


SSSS/SS Crossover

by Luth_Nightbreeze



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Stand Still Stay Silent, Sunless Sea
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luth_Nightbreeze/pseuds/Luth_Nightbreeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crossover of the characters of Stand Still Stay Silent in the universe of Sunless Sea. This was inspired by a conversation I had with cati about where the SSSS characters would fit in the Sunless Sea universe. Enjoy! (Sorry, I don't have a good idea for a title yet, maybe I'll add a proper one when I'm further into the story.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunters

Captain’s Log, November 24, 1889: Home waters. Zailors dawdle at the rail, watching for the lights of London. 

The ship was in bad condition from the start. They had been on a hunting mission mission near the Chelonate, but the zee-beasts had turned too large to handle, even for the late Captain Gundula, one of the finest hunters in all the zee. After the Captain’s untimely death, they consigned his body to the zee, an offering to Salt, and Sigrun took charge. The Fisgard had been manned by 40 zailors, each as good a hunter as the next. Now only 10 of the original crew remained, the rest either starved or gone mad by the dark of the zee. There was no way they could have made the trip to London with the supplies they had. But being their last option, they had to try. When food was scarce, the crewmen made do. Maybe a zailor or two would be missing the next morning, but the hunters always awoke looking oddly well-fed. Upon their arrival in London, they had been met by pirates in the bay. The hunters could have put up a fight, but everyone was exhausted and half-starved from the journey. When the raiders boarded them, they stood no chance. By the time they drifted into the harbour, the pirates had taken everything, even the ship itself. Every last crew member was thrown off the ship onto the docks, left with nothing but the clothes on their back. Sigrun was lucky. Hidden in her jacket, she still had a few bills from the Captains safe, and her much-prized Lorn-Fluke knife. Fashioned from a Lorn-Fluke spine, with a handle carved from beast-bone, it was the one thing she wouldn’t want to lose. She had made it herself, on her first hunting mission - 10 years ago. She tore the spine off the sinking Fluke’s back with her own hands. The captain had told her to keep it safe, as her first hunting trophy. She was glad to still have it, as a weapon could be useful in any situation. The ship was gone. There was no getting it back, but the zailors were still lying around on the docks after being thrown off the ship. Taking charge, she rounded up the crew and gave a speech.

“Hunters! The situation looks grim, but we can fight through! We always do. With me I have…” She pulled the wad of bills out of her jacket and quickly counted them. “…300 Echoes. That should be enough for a small meal for each of us. After that, I say we split ways, try to find new work where we can.” At this point, a small group of Londoners had gathered round, curious to see what was going on. Emanating an air of authority, she pushed through the crowd, leading the bedraggled zailors to the nearest pub. Painted in muted colours on a worn wooden sign above the doorway were the words ‘The Broken Bow’. When she stepped in, the warm and cheery atmosphere of a London pub surrounded her. She held the door for the rest of the crew and gestured for them to sit at a table. The zailors collapsed, exhausted, in the plain neath-wood chairs. She walked up to the bar and ordered the house special, Rubbery Lumps. A platter piled high with what looked like tiny zee-beasts fried in oil was slid across the bar a few minutes later, along with a few shallow glasses filled with viscous, cloudy blue fluid. “What’s that?,” Sigrun asked, curious and slightly suspicious.

“Dipping sauce.” said the bartender, in a strongly accented voice.

Sigrun took the tray, and brought it over to the table the rest of the zailors were sitting at. Although she was trying hard not to show it, she was just as exhausted and hungry as everyone else. After all, someone had to act confident and strong. And usually that role fell on her. Even with all her will, she couldn’t keep up the act forever. As she slumped in a chair, she snatched up a morsel of the strange food, and took a bite. It was…salty, tangy, and as the name suggested, quite rubbery. It wasn’t particularly good, but they were in no state to care. There was a gurgling sound from the other side of the table, a zailor vomited on the floor, and then fell head-first on the table.


	2. Information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter in like, a day, and it's longer than the first so yay! *pats self on back*

Zailors dropped like flies around the table, her former comrades, brothers in arms, descending to the boat on that not-so far-away river. But then she remembered, death in London wasn’t permanent. Due to it’s close proximity to Hell, souls often returned to the bodies of Londoners. The Unterzee was a dark and strange place, and people coming back to life certainly wouldn’t be the weirdest thing she had seen. Heck, devils even had their own embassy in London, trading Echoes for the souls they so loved to devour, in the dark back alleys of London.

She shook the shoulder of the Zailor seated nearest to her, fully expecting him to come alive. Nothing. This was her fault. She should have suspected something the moment the bartender slid that blue stuff over the counter. Outraged, she stormed over to the bar, slamming both fists down on the polished mahogany. 

“What did you do!?” She demanded.

The bartender, looking somewhat shocked at the table of dead Zailors, said, “I swear to Salt, I know nothing!”

“Well, you obviously poisoned the food or something!” She said as she pulled out her knife and threatened the man.

Eyes wide in fear, he confessed, “Look, a strange man came in earlier today as I was opening the shop. He gave me a small vial of something and told me to poison the crew of zailors led by a fierce, red-haired woman. He threatened to burn the building, I had no choice!”

“What did he look like? Where is he now?” she pressed.

“Uh, he was tall, real tall, and wrapped head to toe in bandages! From what I could see of his face, it looked all scarred and burned. Please, I’ve told you all I know, just leave!”

She slipped her fluke-spine knife back into her coat, and looked back at the table where the other hunters were sitting. No time to weep for the dead, she needed information. And she knew just where to get it.

The sickly-sweet scent of honey was thick in the air as she pushed open the neath-oak door to the honey-den. People of all backgrounds lay strewn about the faded lounge chairs and comfy couches of the dimly-lit space in a honey-induced dream state. Leave it to the ‘zee to turn innocent honey into a mind-altering drug. From what she had heard, it was barely legal in London anymore, but uncle Trond seemed to have no problem with that. People would pay anything to get the horrors of life down here off their mind for a little while, to drift in pleasure for a few hours, and in this part of town that money usually ended up in Trond’s pockets. While this was his official ‘business’, he made a greater profit selling information to lowlifes and devils. The dreamers tended to mutter in their sleep, giving crucial tidbits of information. When people needed to know something, he would always have what they needed. While his work may be shady, she had to admit having an uncle in the business made things run a lot smoother. She walked across to a spiral staircase leading to the upper floors, and ascended the creaky stairs to Trond’s office. She knocked, and the door was opened by a young assistant, barely holding a stack of papers in his other hand.

When asked her business with Trond she simply said, “Family. I’m Sigrun Eide.”

“He’s just in here, miss.”

The assistant led her to a heavy door on the other side of room, and knocked with their free hand.

“Mr.Andersen? Sigrun Eide here to see you.”

The door was pulled open by a relatively old man wearing small round-rimmed spectacles. Trond.

“Please, come in.”

A massive desk occupied about half the room. It was backed by panelled neath-glass windows giving a green-tinted view out over the docks. All sorts of file-folders and papers were stacked on the desk in a somewhat organized fashion. She pulled out a chair and sat on the other side of the desk from her uncle.

“So, what brings you to London? The Chelonate is awfully far. The very opposite side of the zee.”

“We were hired to kill a beast roaming the waters around Port Cecil, but it was stronger than we expected. It killed the captain and destroyed one of the ship’s engines. This was the closest port where we could get proper repairs. Pirates attacked us in the bay though, and we lost the ship.”

“So, what do you need from me? A ship? I’m not really in that business.” Trond chuckled.

“No, information. My crew was poisoned, and I need to find who did it.”

“You say that as if they actually died… You do know people don’t usually die in London, yes?”

“Yeah, but I know that they died. Permanently.”

“Well, that certainly narrows the search a bit. There’s only one type of poison that can kill like that, and there’s only one person in London who still makes it.”

“Who?”

“An underground doctor by the name of Mikkel Madsen. From what I know, he’s got a place up near the swamps. I say you have a chat with him. He should have your killer on the books, if he’s willing to help you.”

“Thank you. If you ever need a favour, just ask.”

Trond scribbled down the address on a scrap of paper and slid it across the desk to her. 

“There you go. Be careful, I’d hate to be on the receiving end of your mother’s rage if you were to die here.”

The address had led her to a small building in a warehouse district bordering the swamps. The door wasn’t locked, so she decided to invite herself. The only thing in the building was a rusted metal staircase leading deep into the earth. Seeing descending as the only option, she tried to be as light on her feet as possible on the staircase. The stairs were slick with moisture, and she gripped the railing, white-knuckled, to avoid slipping. Still holding the railing with one hand, she took her knife out of her jacket with the other. Just in case. At the base of the stairway was a heavy metal door, with no handle. She knocked, the clanging reverberating around the cylindrical room. A slot slid open at eye-height, and two grey eyes peered through at her. 

A deep voice spoke from the other side, “What’s your business here?”

“I’m looking for Mikkel Madsen. Are you him?” 

“Keep your eyes closed as you come in, and keep your hands where I can see them.” The slot closed, and she could hear the clicking of locks being undone on the other side of the door. She obliged to the commands, but tightened her grip on the handle of her knife as she put her hands above her head. The door opened, and she was pulled through. Then she felt the prick of a hypodermic in her neck… And the world fell away around her.


	3. Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigrun meets Mikkel, and gets some new leads on the killer.

She awoke on the floor with a throbbing headache. She sat up and reached for her knife, ready to fight, only to find it was gone. She looked around and saw a tall, curly-haired man on the other side of the room leaning over a workbench. She stood slowly and then lunged forward, putting the man in a headlock.

“Ah, so you’re awake.” He said as he pried her arms away from his neck. “Where’d you get this knife? It’s quite well made.”

“Thank you,” She murmured through gritted teeth. “Please give it back.”

“You know my business, right? You seemed to know who I was.” Mikkel continued, seemingly oblivious to Sigrun’s request.

“Yeah, I know you’re some sort of… poisoner, or doctor, or something.”

“Yes. Well, you’re obviously not here on the usual sort of business, because you didn’t know the passphrase. What do you want?”

Sigrun sat down on a crate in the corner. “I… I’m a hunter. My crew was poisoned earlier today, by the same vile filth that you manufacture. I was hoping you could tell me something about who did it. Probably your last client.”

Mikkel slid the knife across the table towards Sigrun, and leant forward, arms crossed. “I can’t disclose any information about previous clients. I’m afraid I’ve got too many enemies in this business keeping eyes on me.”

“But…” Sigrun started.

Mikkel put up a finger, interrupting her. “However, I had been planning on getting out of the business for quite a while. And I want to help you, it’d be a nice change of pace. So I’ll tell you, but you have to let me come along.”

“Come along? Where?”

“Venderbight.”

  “Venderbight!? Why would we go to the tomb-colonies? That place isn’t fit for the living.”

“Well, if you spent the time to get a description of the killer, you would know that he’s obviously a tomb-colonist.”

“Okay… but we’ll need a ship…”

“Well, you have one, don’t y-”

“…and mine was taken by pirates.”

  
“Oh. Well, that’s rather a problem then.”

“I’ve got some favours down in Wolfstack, I’m sure I can arrange something.”

“Alright. I’ve got some things to prepare, I’ll meet you when I’m ready.”

“Okay… How will I find you?”

“You won’t. I’ll find you.”

With that, Mikkel waved her out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is rather short, and mostly dialogue, but I felt like that was a good place to end it.


	4. Calling Favours

The smell of zalt on the zee-breeze. Slick neath-wood walkways over dark, choppy water. Bustling crowds of zailors carrying barrels and packs of various foreign goods. Sigrun pushed her way through, making her way to the far south side of the docks, where for-sale ships were moored. When she was almost at the shipyard, she shoved her hands into her pockets to fend off the chill of the zee-breeze, and felt something she hadn’t put there. She pulled it out. A letter? Someone must have slipped it in back in that crowd. Her name was written in ostentatious gothic script on the front. She opened it.

Sigrun,

Go to Dock 37, time for that favour.

\- Trond

Of course - her uncle had agents everywhere. Odd that he would redeem the favour so soon though, either it was urgent, or he’d already had something lined up. Dock 37 was to the southern end of the harbour, just before the shipyard - right where she was heading. Greened copper cutouts of the numbers “37” were nailed to a post rising from the thrashing waves. The boardwalk creaked underfoot as she stepped towards the ship moored here; a foreign model, by the looks of it. It towered over the dock, all painted gleaming white with gold trimming along the railings and windows. Two people stood in front of the boat, chatting in some foreign language. One was short and plump, had her bangs spiked up, and face covered in grease stains. The other was a man - tall and thin, with pale white skin, almost ghostly. Both were wearing stunningly white clothing, almost giving them the appearance of shining against the backdrop of the dark zee. 

When she got close to them, the two stopped talking and the spiky-haired one called out, “Are you the one Mr. Andersen said he would send?”

“Um… yes?”

“We needed a captain, and he said he would send someone named… Sigrun?”

“Well, that would be me. A… captain, you say? Great. Is this your ship?” She pointed to the beautiful gold-trimmed cruiser moored beside them.

“Ah, no. Ours is a little further down the dock.” She pointed to a small, run-down ship that looked older than the fall. Then, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Tuuri Hotakainen, the ship’s engineer. This is my cousin, Lalli. Sorry about him, he doesn’t speak English, and doesn't like people much anyway.” The taller man - Lalli, was staring at her intensely, the blue of his eyes seemingly projecting itself through her soul.

Sigrun shook her hand, and said, “Is he… a devil? His eyes are a little… intense.” Sigrun questioned tentatively, while giving the man a nervous look.

“Oh, no, no! I’ll tell you later,” and then in a low whisper, “it’s not safe to talk about that here.”

“Um… ok. So, why did you need a captain? Why not charter a ship, instead of going to Trond?

“Lets talk more inside, I can show you around a bit.”

Tuuri said something foreign to Lalli, and motioned for Sigrun to follow her to the ship. Despite it’s age, the ship seemed in good condition. A deadly-looking bronze cannon was mounted on the front, engraved with images of dragons, zee-beasts, and the old gods. Sigrun took a closer look. On the top was an embossed silver image of Mount Nomad, surely embodying the power of Storm, god of anger and violence, and most powerful of the 3 gods of the zee. She didn’t practice the faith, but Sigrun had never doubted the existence of the gods. When zailors invoked their power, she had seen unexplainable things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, I know, but it's been long enough since I've posted here so I thought I'd just post what I had. Haven't had much time or inspiration for writing lately, sadly. Next chapter will probably be longer.


End file.
